


it's the decimal's fault, actually

by villiageidiot



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villiageidiot/pseuds/villiageidiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a snafu down in the accounts receivable department of Hell but they're working on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the decimal's fault, actually

"Wait, _what_?" Blaine asks, eyes wide. "I'm in _Hell_?"

The lady behind the desk grimaces. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. It was a snafu down in accounts receivable and we're working on it, I assure you."

"Accounts --? What are you _talking about_?" he asks, voice borderline hysterical. He's in Hell, though, so. The hysteria is warranted.

"Please calm down, sir. We're working on it as quickly as possible."

Blaine stares at her, mouth hanging open.

She gives him a tentative smile and gestures to the chair in front of her desk. "Take a seat, will you? We can go over the whole unfortunate incident and then put it all behind us."

He's still staring at her, dumbfounded, but his body seems to be on auto-pilot and suddenly, he's sitting in front of her mahogany desk.

"Gertrude," she says, giving him another smile.

"Uh," he replies.

She straightens some file folders on her desk and sighs. "There's a lot going on right now in that little head of yours, I'm sure. So we're just going to take a deep breath, nice and easy."

Blaine takes a deep breath, nice and easy.

"That's it," she encourages. "Relax."

Blaine nods and tries to relax but then: "I'm in _Hell_ , ma'am --"

"Gertrude," she supplies.

"-- okay fine, Gertrude," he continues, rolling his eyes. "I'm in _Hell_ and you want me to relax?"

She gives him a sympathetic look. "We're working on it, sir. I assure you that we're doing everything in our power to get your files all cleaned up so that we can get you back up where you're supposed to be."

Blaine shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't even know what's going on right now." And then his eyes widen. "Wait, where's Kurt?"

Gertrude grimaces again. "Thankfully, there was no _snafu_ with Mr. Hummel's files so he's with the big guy upstairs, right where he belongs."

"I'm accidentally in Hell and Kurt's up in Heaven?" he asks. "He's going to be so pissed at you, you don't even _know_. I bet he's asking about me right now."

:::

"Where's my boyfriend?" Kurt asks St. Peter.

St. Peter sighs. "I've told you, buddy, he's not on the list."

Kurt raises an eyebrow and shoots him an unimpressed glare. "He's on the list."

"He's not, though," St. Peter says for like, the bajillionth time.

"Look again," Kurt says.

"I've looked," he assures him. "You've watched me."

Kurt narrows his eyes and thinks for a minute. "I'm not going in there until you find my boyfriend's name on that damn list."

He kicks the pearly gate closed.

:::

Gertrude closes the file folder and slides it across the desk. "See, here's the issue," she says as she leaves it in front of Blaine. "Do you see those equations on the first page?"

Blaine peers down at the paper even though he has no idea what he's looking at because hello, he does not work in the accountants receivable branch of Hell.

"I see the equations," is all he says.

"Fantastic, do you see that top line?"

He squints and sees the number '7' with about a million zeroes following it. "I see it," he says.

"Well, one of the interns accidentally bumped one of those silly decimals over a few places. It could have happened to anyone really," she laughs. When she sees his super annoyed look, though, she hurries to add, "He was fired, rest assured!"

Blaine sits back in his chair, defeated. He just got some guy in Hell _fired_. He tries not to think about what happens to someone when they get fired in Hell. It can't be pretty, he assumes. It's not like Hell has the funding for federal assistance programs like welfare or food stamps or whatever. He hopes this guy doesn't have a second mortgage or a family to feed.

"Well that's your issue right there," Gertrude tells him, interrupting his thoughts. "Your files should say that on average, you sin seventy times a day but instead, it reads more like you sin seven thousand billion times a day."

And whoa whoa whoa, hold up. "Seventy? I don't sin seventy times a day. Are you crazy?"

"Blaine," she says with a knowing look. "Come on."

"Seventy?" he says, incredulous. "I'm a good kid! I go to church every Sunday. I don't litter. I carry grocery bags for little old ladies! I read bedtime stories to the little kids in the cancer ward!" And okay, the last one actually only happened once. But oh my god, what does it even matter if he lies anymore because _he is in Hell_.

"Blaine," she says again. "Seventy is actually pretty lenient."

"Lenient?" he chokes out. "Who have you been _talking_ to?"

She watches him and reaches for another file folder to her left. "This folder here has a detailed list of your sins hour-by-hour."

He stares at the folder, equal parts horrified and intrigued. "And? What's it say? Open it."

"I don't need to open it," she replies, laying the folder back down. "I can tell you right now what it says."

"Okay," he says, impatient. "What's it say then?"

"It says," she starts. "It says that you think lustful thoughts. A lot. Hourly."

Blaine mouth snaps shut because yeah, she's got him there.

"Seventy is the average, Blaine. Some days it's unimaginably higher. You do it in your _sleep_."

He doesn't say anything and feels his face get warm.

"If it makes you feel better, Kurt's average daily sin count was somewhere in the low to mid sixties," Gertrude tells him.

He thinks it over and okay, it makes him feel a little better about being a pervy pervert who pervs on his boyfriend. One that even pervs in his _sleep_ , apparently.

Blaine clears his throat. "So that's why I'm here?"

She laughs at him. "Oh goodness no. We're working this mess out and getting you where you belong but you wouldn't believe the amount of red tape and bureaucracy down here. It's taking a little longer than we had hoped."

"Okay," he sighs. "How long will it be, do you think?"

She shrugs. "Unfortunately, sweetie, I'm not too sure. Just be patient."

:::

"Patient?" Kurt scoffs.

"Yes," St. Peter answers. "If he's meant to be up here, he'll make his way up here. That's how Heaven works."

Kurt shakes his head. "You're not hearing me. He _is_ meant to be up here. And he's meant to be here _now_."

St. Peter slumps over his podium, defeated. "Please just go inside."

He arches an eyebrow. "I'm not going inside."

"It's nice in there."

"No."

"You'll like it," St. Peter pleads.

"I won't." They stare at each other. "Check your list again."

St. Peter groans. "Oh for crying out -- no. I won't."

Kurt clears his throat. "Do you have a manager? I need to speak to your manager. This is terrible customer service."

:::

"I really do apologize," Gertrude tells Blaine yet again. "I assure you, this is not how Hell typically does business. It's terrible customer service."

"No, it's okay," Blaine says, waving her off. Because he sort of feels bad for her since it's not exactly her fault. She can't help clerical errors, not really. It's the decimal's fault, actually.

Blaine hates punctuation.

"But you'll be out of here in no time," she reassures.

He cocks his head, thoughtful. "You're very pleasant. I wouldn't think that Hell's receptionist would be quite so polite."

"Well, thank you, dear!" she says. "But really, it's not all that bad down here."

"Really?" he asks skeptically. Because what's the world coming to if Hell's 'not all that bad'?

"Really, it's not. I mean, it's a lot of Muzak. A lot of Power Ranger re-runs. We're not allowed to have Cool-Whip. That type of thing."

Blaine gives her a horrified look. _No Cool-Whip?!_

She misreads his horror, though. "The fiery pit of doom concept is really a myth. I mean, it exists per se but it's only reserved for the truly, truly awful. For the rest of us, it's just wobbly tables, menthol cigarettes, and shoddy home plumbing."

"Oh," he says. He's suddenly craving Cool-Whip now that he knows he can't have it.

Her phone rings and she answers immediately. "Gertrude, front desk. How can I help you?" She listens for a moment and then breaks into a grin. "Great, I'll let him know! Thanks, Kathy! Oh, and if Craig's back from lunch, why don't you take your break?"

She ends the call, still smiling. "Well, it looks like you're ready to go! Just close your eyes and when you open them, poof! Pearly gates!"

He eyes her. "It's really that simple."

"It is," she answers. "But oh! Before I forget. I have a word of advice for you."

"Okay," he says warily.

She clears her throat. "You and Kurt. You're … the two of you, well, you're _intimate_. A lot."

Blaine's face falls. "That part of the Bible is true? I always thought --"

"Oh, don't be silly," she laughs. "Of course it's not true. He usually prefers that it doesn't happen until after marriage but the man in charge lets it slide in states where you can't get legally married. Especially if the intent is to get married _someday_."

He lets out a sigh of relief. They're okay on that front.

"All I was going to say is that the guy upstairs is sort of a stickler for that whole 'taking the Lord's name in vain' thing. And when the two of you are … intimate. Well, you two sure know how to take his name in vain. So just a word of advice."

"Noted," Blaine says, smiling. He and Kurt totally have God's consent to _do it_ in heaven.

"Now close your eyes," she says. "It was very nice meeting you."

Blaine closes his eyes.

:::

St. Peter closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You want to speak to my manager."

"Yes," Kurt answers. "That's what I said."

St. Peter sighs. "God," he clarifies. "You want to speak to God."

He shrugs. "If that's who I have to talk to, then yes."

"Kurt," St. Peters says, frustrated. "Blaine's not on my list. He's not on it! The end!"

Kurt folds his arms in front of his chest. "I do not accept that answer."

St. Peter lowers his head onto the podium and wishes he called off work this morning. Suddenly, there's a whooshing noise and St. Peter looks up in time to see a dark haired boy appear right in front of him.

"Blaine," Kurt exhales and like, bum-rushes his boyfriend.

They knock over his podium.

"Go," St. Peter tells the two of them. "Please leave. Just open the gates and go in, I beg of you."

And finally _finally,_ Kurt actually listens to him.

"What took you so long?" Kurt asks Blaine as they walk through the gates.

"Don't even get me started, okay. I hate punctuation."

"Okay," Kurt says slowly, grabbing Blaine's hand.

"On the upside, though," he says, lacing his fingers through Kurt's, "God's totally down with our sex life as long as we watch the profanity."

Kurt laughs and Blaine smiles.

The gates close behind them.

(epilogue: St. Peter goes home early and decides to call in sick tomorrow.)


End file.
